What Do To Me When I Die

By Yash Abhrankash Panda

wins are a futile status, often flattered by others.

defeats set me free from faintly strangling world orders.

palms on grass, i start to sink into the oblivious field

where everyone is equally thirsty for my blood, spleen.

sighing, panting, crying, then mourning the flamingos,

my throat chokes, my vision curls in van gogh's lingo.

i die every moment with the hope of solace.

decrying my being, my virtuous murder is showcased.

listen, pluck my eyes out and hang them in a noose

because chasing the notorious routes they always choose.

nail my skull till it breaks into pieces, squeeze my brain out

and burn it till it stops wandering in a distant lake house.

thrash the rest of my body for the bugs in a dump yard.

when they eat me up, the world would turn into an orchard.

.

the line between life and death is blurring out.

By Yash Abhrankash Panda